


Smash (Me Baby, One More Time)

by penlex



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 24/7 BDSM elements, Aftercare, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Anal Fingering, BDSM, Barebacking, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Sex, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, Exhibitionism, Extreme exhibitionism, Group Sex, Intersex Character, Intersex Jotunn (Marvel), Intersex Loki (Marvel), Large Cock, M/M, Marathon Sex, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Name-Calling, Obedience, Performance Sex, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Scared And Horny, Sexual Fantasy, Size Difference, Size Kink, Thor (mentioned) - Freeform, Under-negotiated Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, sex on stage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 06:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16470341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penlex/pseuds/penlex
Summary: "What do you think?" Grandmaster purrs wetly into Loki's ear as Hulk roars gleefully after 'defeating' Thor. Grandmaster slips a firm hand up in between Loki's legs. "You think you could take him? I think you could take him."Combat isn't the only thing Grandmaster likes to host in his arena, and Loki is his most popular non-gladiatorial contender. What else is there to do but match him up with the other Champion?





	Smash (Me Baby, One More Time)

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to mosterfucker heaven, pervs <3

Despite what Thor probably comes to think, later, it wasn't Loki's first idea to earn Grandmaster's esteem through... carnal favors, as it were. As a matter of fact, his very first strategy was rather more Æsir in its base composition - that of hostile takeover, coup,  _ war _ . He had landed, with a crunch, upon a heaping pile of trash. It was only by luck - a very fickle thing, which Loki has learned to appreciate when it comes but to never, ever,  _ ever  _ count on - that the scavenging masses had happened to be fighting over some other treasurable refuse and had not immediately seen him arrive. It was a simple matter to disguise himself as one of them, scheming to rally them around him and have them win him the seat on their backs from whomever occupied it currently. With the use of his silver tongue, it wouldn't take terribly long. But first he would have to make himself blend in, and appearance alone does little to convince.

So among the trash piles Loki, in his new Sakaaran mask, had scavenged like the rest. He had not truly looked for anything of any value, as he doubted he would find something suitable within reasonable time, and had simply grabbed up whatever came to hand and cast an illusion. Something enough to bring to this planet's ragged semblance of court, but not so valuable as to get himself overly noted.

Loki's luck had run out immediately, and left him scrambling for a new plot, as soon as he set foot before the being whom he planned to unseat. It just happened that the Grandmaster could see quite easily through illusions.

"Oh, now, uh," he'd said. "Don't be rude. Why don't you- ...Take that off, hm?" And as he spoke he had given a negligent wave of his hand and brushed away Loki's magic as if it were cobwebs.

"There," the Grandmaster had said then, looking Loki's Æsir skin (a shift, rather than an illusion, much more solid) over from head to toe. "I, uh, I certainly like that look a lot better. Don't you?"

And thus… Plan B. Loki had expected it to be at least a little bit more difficult to get under the Grandmaster's robe, but in point of fact it was perhaps the second easiest trick Loki had ever pulled (number one of course being manipulating Thor's temper, in times past).

Loki had been happily keeping the Grandmaster company, along with his various and  _ extensive  _ other companions, for several days when Grandmaster first took him to the arena to watch something other than a fight. That first time it was a spontaneous match. Loki followed the Grandmaster into the viewing box, by then already having earned himself a certain level of favoritism. The crowd had seemed different, but at the time Loki hadn't paid it much mind. The Grandmaster's giant hologram self appeared, sparkling and ostentatious, in the center of the arena and - to Loki's surprise - called for volunteers.

Six came forward. Two had the smooth pink-brown skin that Loki was used to, surrounded for so long by Æsir and Vanir and the occasional Midgardian. The rest rather did not. There was one that must have been some kind of giant, though none that Loki had seen before, three heads taller than the more familiar two, with thick textured hair in locs all the way down to their knees, purple skin, and four bare breasts. One was semi-transparent. One was a Groot, literally a tree with a face. The last had no face at all that Loki could see, and numerous wriggling limbs. Loki had been curious, sitting close at the Grandmaster's left hand on the plush couch. He had at that point only seen one on one battles between two conscripted gladiators.

The six volunteers did  _ not  _ fight.

Loki had sat there in the viewing box, his fingers curling into white knuckled grips on the couch at either side of himself, mouth hung open and unable to bring himself to blink. He had sweat and lost his breath and though his shock and the heat in his blood had made his ears buzz, the acoustics in the arena were good enough that Loki didn't miss a single gasp or moan from below. The Ás-looking woman had been taken in front by the thing with the limbs, an extra tentacle in her mouth, and from behind by the giant, and the limbful thing had also entered into the man, and the man took the transparent one, and the Groot pinched the giant's many nipples with one branch and blew pollen into everyone's faces with the other. Somehow Loki had managed to drag his eyes away and look around at the crowd to find them cheering or touching themselves or engaging with each other. Some simply removed their clothing and sat there all spread out, waiting (never for long). Only when the finale was echoing into the domed ceiling did Loki finally realize that the Grandmaster had not been watching the show, gaze caught on Loki instead, one painted nail tugging thoughtfully at the corner of his self-satisfied smirk.

Grandmaster had brought Loki back to the arena many times after that. This version had an even mix of spontaneous volunteers and scheduled matches from the wide pool of Grandmaster's consorts. The number of participants varied wildly, from dozens-deep orgies to just one person. The second time, Grandmaster had pet through Loki's hair and over his neck, chuckling smugly at the way Loki had squirmed and panted. The third time the sex match happened directly after a gladiator match, the blood in the dirt smearing onto the sweaty skin of the three volunteers, and Grandmaster had lounged comfortably against the side of the couch and one-handedly rubbed Loki off through his trousers. The fourth time, Loki didn't see who the participants were because before they even came onto the floor Grandmaster had lain a cushion down at his feet for the sake of Loki's knees.

Barely two weeks pass since Loki's arrival on Sakaar before Grandmaster, after (somehow daintily) spitting Loki's second load of the night into the designated cup, tells him too-casually, "The, uh, the arena  _ awaits  _ us, tomorrow."

"I look forward to it," Loki murmurs drowsily, not deigning to move from where he's sprawled in the Grandmaster's silky orange sheets. He feels as if all of his bones have gone pleasantly absent, and he has absolutely no desire to be rid of the sensation. The longer he stays the more his unruly ambitions seem to leak out of him. He doesn't think he'd mind staying here in this hedonistic, shameless wasteland, getting pampered and praised and pleasured forever.

"Well," Grandmaster says, kneeling in between Loki's legs and stroking up and down Loki's tired thighs. His lips twitch in amusement, and Loki is distantly aware if it were two weeks ago that would make him a little nervous. Now Grandmaster's mischievous look only has Loki feeling like a cat in the sun, canaries aplenty. "When, uh, when I say  _ us _ , I really- really mean  _ you _ ."

In the past two weeks, Loki has learned a little bit about himself that his last niggling sense of Æsir bred propriety had kept locked away. As Prince, he should be poised, presentable, elegant,  _ indomitable  _ before any witness, always. Loki as anything else only Loki himself should see. Or maybe his married consort if he ever deigned to take one. But as it turns out, Loki quite likes an audience (not surprising  _ at all _ in hindsight). He likes to be admired even- no,  _ especially  _ when he's messy and desperate and being brought down low so he can be buried in bliss. During Grandmaster's multi-guest get-togethers behind closed doors or drawn curtains or, sometimes, just around a corner, Loki thrills to have eyes on him, to have others know how much he enjoys doing any number of deviant things, to cross paths with them later in other contexts and know that they have to have at least a fleeting thought to it when they see him.

Loki closes his eyes and considers it - the arena, with Loki on the floor, looked down upon by hundreds of people… That old Asgardian shame still clings, but it's come to a point by now that it's only extra kindling for the flames of lust that grow in Loki's belly. He can feel himself begin to harden for the third time.

"Mm," Grandmaster chuckles. "That's what I thought you'd say."

The next day, Grandmaster leads Loki into one of the champions' atriums that open onto the arena, after warming him up to his own satisfaction. So it is that Loki is already achingly hard and his clothing visibly rumpled when he is announced and steps out into the spotlights. He freezes abruptly the moment his vision adjusts. Grandmaster must have been planning this for some time, must have made a big deal of it, hyped Loki up somehow without Loki's knowledge, because there are not hundreds of spectators, there are  _ thousands _ . Loki slowly lifts his eyes up to the Grandmaster's viewing box (equally as occupied as the commoners' stands), just barely able to catch sight of the enigmatic smile on his lips. He jauntily lifts his cocktail to Loki, and then the other participant is brought forward.

Loki ends up on his back in the dirt, held down and taken by some nameless Sakaaran commoner who wears a mask in the shape of a snarling wolf. When Loki moans upon being entered and hears the sound echoed back to him by the crowd, he thinks he might come right then. It's not even a little affected when he throws his head back and cries out.

"Yes!" someone in the stands shouts, and by Valhalla Loki couldn't possibly agree more. They  _ cheer _ for him when he comes, a roar of adulation celebrating his pleasure and his pleasure alone. It feels  _ transcendent _ .

And so Loki becomes a regular contender in Grandmaster's exhibitionism games. Once, he rides a Xandarian he's had once before for Grandmaster's personal entertainment. Once, Grandmaster has him brought into the arena tied spread-eagle between two sturdy posts and asks for volunteers. Once, there is a line of volunteers tied to sturdy posts for him. Once, Loki walks into the empty arena and waits for his partner to be announced or asked for, and waits and waits until Grandmaster's amplified voice drawls, " _ Well _ ? Go on." And every time the crowd grows and grows.

"You're my- my sex champion," Grandmaster says on a night after Loki has had sex with no fewer than twelve people, all of differing species, to the packed colosseum's frenzied enthusiasm. He presses Loki down into his pearlescent sheets so he can take his turn. "You're just going to fuck your way right- right on up to the very top, mm, aren't you?"

Loki laughs, exhausted but as eager as always, and agrees, "Yes. My depravity goes undefeated."

Of course, then Thor has to show up and ruin all of Loki's fun (some things never do change). He had mourned, quietly, and allowed the Grandmaster to distract him from it when he'd thought Thor to have been killed by Hela, knowing there was nothing to be done. So on one hand, Loki is glad to see Thor. But on the other… Well. Even while the opinions of the whole of the universe have fallen to the wayside, tributaries to Loki’s exhibitionism at the most, Thor’s is the only one that still genuinely matters. There's no preventing Thor from knowing Loki is sleeping with Grandmaster; it's far too obvious and Loki gives up before he even starts. But as for the rest… Loki can't even begin to guess what Thor's reaction would be, and as such he would rather never find out.

Grandmaster arranges for Thor to fight. Loki would be worried, but it's Thor.

"That's your brother," Grandmaster says after Loki watches Thor's chair mosey off to put him in the gladiator holds with absolute nonchalance. "Aren't you, uh. Aren't you a little  _ concerned _ ?" Loki snorts indelicately, loving that Grandmaster finds the uncouth noise charming not in spite of its rudeness but because of it.

"Thor has never lost a fight in all his life," he explains, with notably less bitterness than might have been in a sentence like that just years ago (perhaps even a little pride). After a pause, and with the shadow of something Loki will never name guilt, he amends, "Well, he's never lost a fair fight anyway."

In bed later that night, Grandmaster hums thoughtfully from behind the finger tapping at his lips. "If he's all that like you say he is - and I- I'm trusting your judgement here - uh, I think I'll bring out my champion to face him."

"I thought  _ I _ was your champion," Loki pouts facetiously. Grandmaster laughs and tugs Loki's sweat damp hair out of his face in a loose fist.

"Well the two of you haven't battled in the same arena - uh,  _ figuratively  _ speaking, of course, but-" He snaps and Loki's favorite fleshlight flings itself into his free hand from the boudoir across the room. "-I'm sure you could, uh, come out on top. If that's how- if that's how you  _ wanted  _ it."

In the morning, Loki foolishly forgets the convenient little caveat about fairness he gave Grandmaster yesterday, and he puts his bet down on Thor.

Thor comes out onto the floor hairless and grim, and for just a second Loki feels a little bad. He might have been able to vouch for his brother somehow, maybe, though he doesn't know what specifically he could have told Grandmaster that Thor had to offer him other than fighting or sex. All the same, seeing his big brother so stripped of self - no hammer, no hair, no annoyingly persistent smile… It's just  _ disconcerting _ . Loki quickly makes an executive decision not to dwell on it.

Loki hears the Grandmaster's announcement of "The Incredible Hulk" muffled like from underwater because, as the words promise, the Hulk himself comes tearing out from behind the opposite gladiator door, roaring just as he is wont to do. One would think falling Idunn only knows how far through open space and landing on some trash party planet outside of the Nine Realms would ensure that one would not accidentally run into any old enemies, but alas apparently one would be quite wrong.

Loki's not proud of it, if not necessarily ashamed either, but he immediately turns to flee, heart racing and mouth maybe a little dry, some dissonant combination of the crunch of Stark's floors underneath him and Grandmaster's words from last night (' _ you could come out on top, if that's how you  _ **_wanted_ ** _ it _ ') echoing around together inside his head. His escape is cut off by none other than Grandmaster himself, who hardly is a man who should be disrespected (or disobeyed, but to someone like him there's very little difference) lightly.

Loki does sit all the way at the other end of the couch though, sulking as much as he can without making a scene, letting his displeasure be known without earning Grandmaster's for himself. He's fidgety and jumpy, even when he gets wrapped up into the fight despite himself. His tiny little spat with Thor in the gladiator tunnel yesterday evening hardly makes his brother any less of a marvel to behold, and up against such a formidable opponent (there are not many, for Thor) Loki is leaning forward on the edge of his seat along with everyone else.

Even with Hulk's signature rag doll body slam move, Thor would have won.  _ If  _ Loki had kept his mouth shut. This is exactly why he doesn't bother with guilt; it only makes things worse (for him).

"Mm," Grandmaster hums with a smile, nothing if not amused in the face of Loki's intensified sulking. He doesn't look away from Loki as he commands whoever is standing next to him to, "put away those toys, would you, uh, darling? I have another game that needs my- my  _ attention _ ."

Grandmaster slides across the couch to crowd into Loki's space as his orders are obeyed and Thor is dragged off the arena floor. Loki tenses briefly, but from the way Grandmaster licks and nibbles at his pulse point he must not be in trouble.

"What do you think?" Grandmaster purrs wetly into Loki's ear. Hulk roars gleefully, lifting his big green arms and beating his chest, encouraging the screaming crowd to keep cheering him. Grandmaster slips a firm hand up in between Loki's legs. "You think you could- you could  _ take  _ him, hmm? I think you could take him."

Loki can't help but picture it. If he didn't know better - or, he supposes more accurately, he  _ doesn't  _ really know better, he can only guess at what Grandmaster is capable of - he'd say Grandmaster could weave magic into his words too. His eyes catch on the lines of the heavy muscle over Hulk's ribs and belly, follow a bead of sweat like a highlight helplessly down to where Hulk's armored kilt thing hangs from his wide hips.

"Do you think he's, uh,  _ proportional _ ?" Grandmaster wonders solicitously, stroking Loki to hardness with discomfitingly little effort. Loki spares a thought to be glad he lost his bet after all, because if Thor were conscious right now to see Loki all docile with his legs open and looking at  _ Hulk _ … Even with that narrowly avoided embarrassment, Loki can't help but imagine Grandmaster's implication.

"I think you can- I think you can take him," Grandmaster repeats, his tone conversational at first. Loki can only moan quietly, confused and hot and starting to squirm under Grandmaster's relentless hand. Grandmaster's voice dips low and dark like molasses when he clarifies, "Loki… I  _ want  _ you to take him. You're gonna do that for me right, sweet thing? Hmm? You'll be, uh, undisputed."

Grandmaster draws back then and sits comfortably with one arm thrown over the back of the couch behind Loki's shoulders, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening (nothing out of the ordinary  _ is  _ happening, for him), while Loki struggles through his second sexual crisis in as many weeks. Hulk has turned away from the crowd now, facing the viewing box head-on for Grandmaster's direct approval.

"Uh,  _ perfect _ , big guy," Grandmaster says. "You know, Loki and I, here," he gives Loki a little shake, and Loki wheezes, "we enjoyed the show so much, why don't, uh- why don't you come on back tomorrow?"

Hulk looks at Loki, recognizes him, and peels back his upper lip to show Loki his teeth, half a snarl and half a smirk. He growls and the sound reverberates like any thunder clap in the arena's perfect acoustics. And then he winks.

Grandmaster laughs and claps like Hulk performed a particularly thrilling trick. Loki stops breathing, and he's not sure when he starts again.

"You're gonna fuck that big monster!" Grandmaster crows back in his bedroom that night. Loki is tied with shimmery ropes to his bed posts, spread out over his midnight blue sheets (Grandmaster had gone on for _ ever _ about the contrast with Loki's pale Æsir skin).

_ Yes _ , Loki thinks to himself, predisposed by now to giddily agree with whatever Grandmaster says. And then  _ No _ . And then  _ Yes  _ again.

_ What will Thor think? _ he wonders. And then,  _ Thor wouldn't have to know _ and  _ Thor won't know because it's not happening _ .

"You're just- you're gonna love it, buttercup," Grandmaster says. "You're gonna- oh, I can just see you now. You're gonna  _ love  _ it."

And Loki thinks,  **_Yes_ ** .

Tomorrow comes both too soon and not soon enough. Grandmaster takes Loki into his usual gladiators' atrium personally and gets him warmed up for the match, him laughing and bright-eyed and Loki shaking with nerves and so turned on it hurts, just like that first time.

"Ooh, you're gonna love this so much," Grandmaster keeps saying, less to reassure Loki than to express his own excitement. "You're gonna- I can't wait, you're gonna- Oh, I bet he's  _ big _ , I know you like that. I bet he's bigger than- bigger than that blue guy you liked so much." The blue guy was not a guy, they were a frost giant, and Loki let them have him in front of everyone, and his skin turned blue everywhere they touched him,  _ in front of everyone _ , and later Grandmaster had said, 'You know, imitation is the highest form of flattery,' and Loki hadn't asked who exactly he thought Loki was flattering.

But yes, Loki would bet that Hulk is at least of a size, if not bigger than they were.

Grandmaster undoes the straps on Loki's leather tunic one-handed (he's very well practised, plus the other hand is occupied with his morning cocktail). He rubs roughly all across Loki's bare skin underneath, pausing to tease a nipple with his thumb. He takes a sip of his cocktail, and then goes for Loki's belt. When Loki's clothes are all undone, chest peeking out from behind the open flaps of his tunic and his trousers pulled down over his thighs, Grandmaster steps back. He looks Loki up and down with idle thought like he's a familiar piece of abstract art in a frequented museum, and takes another sip.

"Get, uh, get  _ ready _ , then, darling," he commands. Loki bites his lip, but he's done as such in front of a full arena of people calling out suggestions, so Grandmaster's greedy eyes alone are hardly enough to forstall him. Loki checks his pockets for lube (often, Grandmaster dresses him and equips him with goodies he'll need throughout his day) and finds three tubes and a vibrating egg.

Loki shuffles carefully backward until he can lean back against the bare stone wall. He leaves his state of undress as it is; if Grandmaster wanted him naked, he would be. He slicks up three fingers and tucks the lube back into the pocket he found it in (he will most certainly need it again), and reaches down between his legs.

Loki doesn't bother to take it slow with himself. After three weeks on Sakaar, most of them spent having sex almost non-stop, he hardly needs careful attention. Grandmaster doesn't seem impatient, but neither does he look like he wants a long show - or at least, not a show starring Loki by himself. So he presses in two fingers at once, and the third only a wiggle or two after. Loki fingers himself until he's panting, slowly but steadily sinking closer and closer to the floor with his full weight pressed against the wall at his back, and Grandmaster finally gives him the nod to stop. He slips his fingers out of himself, leaving him to feel wet and even more exposed. And then on a whim, avoiding Grandmaster's watching eyes, Loki switches to his clean hand and breaches his  _ other  _ sheath (which, it turns out, almost all Jotnar have, where only fifty-two percent of Æsir do and generally tend not to have anything else).

"Oh," Grandmaster says. Loki watches him out of the corner of his eye as an ornate chair materialises behind him, he sits in it, and props his ankle up on the other knee. "Goodness, you  _ are  _ excited aren't you? Greedy, greedy. Will you, uh, will you have him in both or are you just- are you just making sure all your avenues are, uh…  _ open _ ?"

Loki blushes but doesn't answer, and doesn't stop fingering himself. In truth, he doesn't know. Before arriving on Sakaar he didn't usually… make use of this part of himself. Likely yet another issue his Æsir upbringing gifted him with, having him associate it with being female which in turn had him feeling indescribably  _ wrong  _ most times he acknowledged its existence. Here on Sakaar however, there are nearly as many genital configurations as there are inhabitants, and all of them equally celebrated. Loki has had fingers and tongues and cocks inside him here, and all in front of one to one thousand people. There's just something about Sakaar that leaves Loki feeling free to try absolutely everything he's ever so much as fleetingly fantasized about, and some more things besides.

He doesn't need the lube for this entrance; he's already wet and as he presses his fingers inside the slick smears over his hand, the rest of his genitals, the insides of his thighs. It's hot and much more slippery than the synthetic stuff. Inside is hot and slippery too, and much more sensitive than elsewhere - if by his body's design or just from the relative novelty, Loki doesn't know. He gets three fingers inside and thrusts and scissors and Grandmaster watches calmly just the same as before. Grandmaster holds off on the nod longer, or maybe it just seems longer, but by the time it finally comes Loki is whining quietly, with damp hair and a fatigued wrist. He stops as directed and has to catch himself on the wall so that his wobbly legs don't dump him onto the floor.

"Good boy," Grandmaster praises idly before taking another casual sip from his cocktail, smacking his lips. "Now let's get you fucked, huh?" He rises, sets his drink aside on the side table whose arrival Loki missed, and crosses the room to tug Loki onto his feet. He slides both hands between Loki's legs, dipping one finger each into both of Loki's entrances, and then gives Loki's cock and balls a squeeze too. Then he pulls Loki's trousers up, tucks him away, and buttons them. He closes the tunic too. Finally, Grandmaster presses their lips together and kisses Loki's mouth the same way he'd fuck it. Loki twines his arms around Grandmaster's shoulders and happily sucks on his tongue, until the Grandmaster's artificial voice calls to him from out in the arena.

Loki strides out into the arena, his strut only a little hampered by his erection and the wetness in his pants, to find it packed full with more spectators than Loki has ever seen. Even the box is bursting at the seams, every seat taken except for the white couch which is reserved for Grandmaster and any special guests of his, and the spaces in between the furniture filled with people standing. Every seat in the commoners' stands is occupied too, some with more than one person, and the isles are teaming as well. The ravenous scream they're emitting nearly deafens him. Even before Loki reaches the center of the packed dirt floor, his usual audience members have already taken up a chant of his name.

"And his partner this morning," Grandmaster's hologram says. Loki wouldn't have thought it possible, but the crowd gets even louder. "The Incredible…" The atrium door on the other side of the arena buckles on one side, the screech of crushed metal drowned out by the din of the fanatic crowd. Loki's heart races so hard his sternum hurts a little. "HULK!"

Just before the green beast comes through, apparently having a skilled hand for dramatic timing, those in the crowd who have only ever seen the fights begin to chant Hulk's name. Loki's fans continue with his, battling valiantly to be heard, until the arena is howling with an amalgamation of them both.

And then Hulk is on the floor.

He seems even bigger than the last time Loki saw him from the ground. He clearly wasn't told anything beyond what Loki himself witnessed the Grandmaster say to him. He's armored and armed and he plants his feet to roar. Loki, lightheaded and hot, wonders idly if he's going to faint.

"Hush now," says the real Grandmaster into his mouthpiece, at last lounging in his place on his white couch, and the stands all go breathlessly quiet at once.

The ground seems to shake under the Hulk's feet as he stomps forward toward Loki, coming fast, growing larger the closer he gets. He growls, "Puny god," derisive as ever, and makes a show of dropping his unnecessary weapon. Loki swallows a whimper at the phrase, the memory of being beaten through concrete eclipsing the arena, but even as he thinks of it the memory evolves. Hulk in Loki's imagination pins Loki down with one hand, ripping him free of his armor and stuffing him full with the fingers of the other hand until all but one of his teammates arrive and…

Hulk pauses when he gets nearly toe to toe with Loki, because Loki hasn't moved so much as an inch nor said a word. Loki cranes his neck to look into Hulk's face, quaking, waiting (hoping very, very much that Hulk isn't overly fond of beating up non-combative opponents). Hulk tilts his head, confused at Loki's stillness, and Loki watches with a growing mixture of relief (he's not big on pain) and nerves (at least he _knows_ how to deal with a lost fight) as Hulk takes note of his lack of weapon and armor. He glances at the viewing box, but Grandmaster must not give him much to go on because he looks to the stands next. Loki swallows hard, his mouth dry as he hears that in several places the audience is already taking full advantage of the entertainment.

Hulk looks back to Loki, his confusion overtaken by shock, which slowly melts into understanding (and Loki hadn't known that the creature was this complex, but he's certainly glad of it now) and then… smugness. Hulk puts one giant green finger on the inside of one of Loki's legs and pushes Loki's stance out to shoulder width, Loki's shoes scraping on the dirt of the floor. That one finger Hulk presses up, up between Loki's shaking legs, up until Loki is on his tiptoes and clinging onto Hulk's wrist for balance. Loki is achingly hard and sopping wet, and his own weight has him helplessly grinding onto Hulk's finger.

Hulk smirks and takes his hand away, leaving Loki to stumble and nearly fall into the dirt.

"Slutty god," he says, as if he's correcting a simple mispronunciation. Loki can feel his cheeks heat and he has to close his eyes for a moment, but it's not as if he doesn't agree, as if he hasn't spent all his time on Sakaar going out of his way to prove it, as if there wasn't already a moan in the back of his throat before Hulk had finished saying it. Hulk laughs, a low rumbling thing, and - to Loki's confused disappointment - takes a step back.

"Slutty god want," he instructs, his smirk growing, a glint in his unnaturally green eyes, "then slutty god take." He sits, lies back, and then folds his arms beneath his head, luxuriating on the ground. He lifts a challenging eyebrow in response to Loki's gaping. The crowd in the stands takes no pause, though. Some scream "Take it! Take it!" and some have started the chant of Loki's name again. Some are less articulate, only moaning or cheering, or else with their mouths already otherwise occupied. But they don't have to encourage Loki for long; he  _ is  _ a slut, and a God, and he will take what he wants.

Loki takes a deep, steadying breath, and begins to undress. He's as into the debauched look and feel of partially clothed sex as the next person, but in this case it feels better to lose his whole kit. The air in the arena is humid and warm from the presence of so many people, but Loki gets goosebumps with every bit of his skin he reveals anyway. He can feel the heat of thousands of eyes drag over every inch of him, but he's too impatient himself to give anyone else a tease. He dumps his clothes onto the ground uncaringly. If Grandmaster wants to put Loki back in them later he'll have a servant collect them.

Hulk has been watching Loki strip just as avidly as their spectators. His eyes rove from Loki's head to his toes, lingering on all the interesting parts - his pebbled pink nipples, the gentle slope of his belly, his twitching cock and the slick dripping down his inner thighs. Loki checks Hulk out in return, taking his time. Hulk's biceps are huge and round, his underarms full with wiry green-black hair, muscles and fat underneath thick green skin stretched out tantalizingly with the way he's sprawled, the hypnotic movement of his belly as he breathes, the cut of his hips disappearing beneath the leather waist of his lone garment.

Loki steps closer. Laying on his back on the ground, Hulk's torso comes up to Loki's knees. Loki reaches out haltingly, grabbing at the sparsely visible cloth part of Hulk's kilt, swallows once, and lifts.

A tense, shallow quiet descends over the arena as hundreds of the voyeurs in the stands take in the same sharp breath Loki does at the sight of Hulk's cock. It doesn't seem longer than the Jotunn's, but it's certainly thicker, and still filling, steadily rising as Loki watches. It's flushed a darker, brighter green than the rest of Hulk's skin, the vein along the underside darker than Loki's old Asgardian leathers. Loki holds his forearm out to it to compare, choking on how dry his throat goes when he finds the cock thicker.

He's going to have that inside him.

Fuck.

Loki plants his palms on Hulk's lower abdomen and bounces up. He needs the boost to swing his leg all the way over Hulk's huge hips. Sat astride Hulk like this, Loki can only reach the balls of his feet to the floor, his legs spread wide enough that his hips will begin to ache in short order. The metal pteruges of Hulk's rucked up kilt are chilly where they brush against the insides of Loki's knees. The ground is feet away now, and Loki feels like he sits even higher from the enormous girth right between his legs.

Loki doesn't bother to chew his lip, like he used to at first. Instead he lets his mouth fall open as wide as his legs, pants and moans freely into the air, into the crowded stands. He works his hips, rocking back and forth along Hulk's cock. It almost feels like he's up on a bondage horse, except Hulk is body hot and throbbing. Loki leans forward, putting his weight on his hands. On an Æsir-sized partner Loki would reach shoulders or chest in this position, but with Hulk he's at mid-rib, rising and falling along with Hulk's breathing, faster now. Loki uses the angle to rub his own weeping cock over the head of Hulk's. His hair, sweaty already, falls in his face when he looks down. Next to Hulk's, Loki's dick looks tiny and almost disconcertingly red. It twitches eagerly under his own gaze.

"Fuck him already!" someone screams from the stands, their voice breaking like they're the one straddling a hot cock. Maybe they are. Loki doesn't care particularly, as long as they keep watching. He sits up again, relishing in the heat and slick friction when he can press and slide his other sex along the shaft of Hulk's cock more firmly. He wiggles a little and leans back too, so that his ass can get the same teasing pressure. But which one to fill first?

"Cunt," Hulk says abruptly, answering that question before Loki can. His voice has gone rough, grinding out of his throat like gravel, and the vulgar language sends a violent shudder up Loki's spine. Eager to oblige, Loki scoots down enough to get Hulk's dick in hand. Well. In two hands. The head has gone forest green and leaks over Loki's fingers, leaving him just as smeared with sticky wetness as he was when he had those fingers curling inside himself. He lifts the weeping green cock into a good position to really sit on. It's noticeably heavy, and Loki wonders if it'll feel like - or better than - the weighted beads Grandmaster likes to fill Loki with. The shining head catches the overhead spotlights, and the frenzy in the stands picks up, the same excitement like static inside Loki's head, like liquid metal between his legs.

Loki shuffles back up Hulk's body, but he can't lift himself high enough and has to lean forward again to press Hulk's cock in at an angle. The first touch of it against his wet opening is like fire that has Loki letting loose a drawn out groan already. He slides himself steadily backward, further and further impaling himself, slow and mindful of the size. The stretch burns like a gulp of straight sweet whiskey, and Loki lets himself wordlessly sing its praises. Hulk rumbles his own pleasure too, loud even from deep in his huge barrel chest, the purring of a dangerous predator. Every noise of theirs is echoed back to them hundreds-fold by the crowd.

"Puny," Hulk says when their hips finally meet again. His voice is still loud and deep, but strangled, and gives Loki a giddy rush of pride that leaves him feeling over-warm and tingly and invincible. "Tiny, tight."

"Is it good, creature?" Loki manages to ask breathlessly. He wants to hear Hulk describe what it feels like to have the biggest cock on this planet buried inside Loki. Everyone else does too, from the way the noise becomes suppressed again, allowing a few individual sounds to be picked out of the din. A high voice crying out repeatedly in pleasure, the dull crack of someone getting spanked or slapped, someone whimpering Loki's name.

"Good," Hulk confirms. "Wet." And then he demands, "Move, Slutty God." The crowd repeats the name like a rallying cry, and Loki does so hate to disappoint his adoring public.

Loki sits up and the new angle both presses Hulk's cock into his G-Spot, making Loki cry out, and increases the stretch. It does feel even better than the weighted beads, so heavy, keeping Loki feeling the burn even as he adjusts. He squeezes his knees at Hulk's waist as much as he can manage, presses what little of his feet reach hard into the ground, and tries to get some lift.

He can't.

Loki chews his lip, immediately frustrated, having been impatient for it from the moment he'd lifted Hulk's kilt. He tries again, digging his knees into Hulk's sides hard enough to hurt himself, but the best he can do is roll his hips. The cock inside him moves and Loki groans piteously in need, scraping his nails along either side of Hulk's navel. He tries again to get enough leverage to fuck himself. The balls of his feet skid in the dirt. His thighs tremble. Hulk hasn't moved an inch, and he's smirking again, his eyes glinting. Loki tries just to bounce, using his hands to move himself instead, but even that only gives him barely an inch of friction. Hulk laughs breathily. Loki, half ashamed and half impressed, feels his eyes start to prick with tears of desperation. He tries to ride Hulk again, one more time, before he gives up.

" _ Hulk _ ," he whines, drawn out, his voice high and thready.

Hulk lifts his hips, just barely, just enough to have Loki whimpering. He grins, as triumphant now with Loki sitting on his cock and begging for it as he is after any gladiatorial win, and brags, "Hulk's cock so big Slutty God can't even fuck it."

"Yes," Loki gasps, agreeing without hesitation. "Yes, but I like cocks that are too big for me." The crowd  _ loves  _ that, Loki thinks he might've heard even the Grandmaster himself make a noise - and besides, maybe if he strokes Hulk's apparent ego the beast will finally  _ fuck him _ .

The flattery must work. Hulk pulls one massive hand out from under his head to wrap around Loki's waist instead. His palm covers most of Loki's side, his thick fingers hot across Loki's lower back, the rough tip of his thumb pressed firmly to the head of Loki's cock. Hulk tightens that grip until Loki squeals embarrassingly and grabs at his forearm, and then he brings the other hand around and curls it under the meat of Loki's thigh. Loki is shaking in anticipation, flexing his walls around Hulk's cock, both for the feeling of it so thick and hard inside him and to spur Hulk into action.

Finally, Hulk lifts Loki like he's as weightless as parchment, and then brings him down again harder than Loki was expecting. Loki yelps and grabs Hulk's other arm too.

Hulk sets an unsurprisingly brutal pace. Loki holds onto his arms for dear life while Hulk basically uses his body as a fleshlight. Hulk's cock is so big it can't miss, putting near-constant pressure on Loki's G-Spot that has him seeing stars. The stretch and the friction, the roughness and the size, all build into a hot mess of pleasure-pain that radiates from Loki's center up into his belly and along his spine. He tries to keep his eyes open, wanting to watch the audience watching, but even when he manages his vision blurred with motion and sweat, the stands just a mass of noise and color that stokes Loki's pleasure with the same fire as the actual fucking.

Loki's toes start to curl. He can feel his orgasm rapidly approaching, the heat inside him ratcheting higher and higher with every drop. Hulk either notices or just has such good timing by luck, but whichever it is he picks this moment to plant his feet so he can thrust up into Loki as well as continuing to slam Loki down onto his cock.

" _ Fuck _ !" Loki all but shrieks, and comes, his walls clenching hard around Hulk's cock. Loki has never been fucked so hard in his life. His cunt floods with wetness, easing the way as Hulk tosses his own head back and doesn't so much as falter in his rhythm. If anything he gets faster,  _ harder _ . The unaltered pace draws Loki's orgasm out for long, long seconds, until his inner walls grow tired and sensitive and he can feel a puddle of his own wetness underneath him spread over Hulk's hips. He squeezes a few more times deliberately, just to feel the sweet ache, that knife-edge of too-much that he's grown as addicted to as to so much attention. Hulk's deep growling moans echo around the arena.

Hulk's thumb, when Loki reaches down to grab it, is bigger in his hand as his own cock would be. At the touch, Hulk lifts his head to look at Loki and Loki unabashedly meets his eyes as he moves Hulk's thumb out of his way and takes himself in hand.

Coming with his cock feels a lot different than coming with his cunt. It happens a lot faster usually, for one. Loki is already right on the edge from the pleasure of his first orgasm and the continued stimulation, and just from being filled so inescapably  _ full _ , and he can't bring himself to stroke slow. He matches Hulk's rhythm, fast and so hard. His toes curl again, all his muscles seizing up, and he can't keep his eyes open this time.

"Yes, fuck! Yes!" he shouts as he spills over his hand, shuddering violently through it.

"Yes!" Hulk repeats, his voice much louder, rattling Loki to his bones. His grip tightens around Loki's waist and thigh and then- Hulk's cock  _ thickens  _ inside Loki. Loki cries out hoarsely in shock and pleasure, the ache of overstimulation mixing together with the burn of stretching with the ever-present pleasure of a cock inside him. Hulk presses Loki down hard against him, his hips jerking as he comes and comes and comes, until - like with Loki's first orgasm - a hot, slippery puddle of it makes them even sloppier where they join.

The roaring in Loki's ears slowly gives way to the roaring of the crowd, and he blinks blearily to clear his vision. The crowd is all on their feet, screaming and cheering and applauding them. Some in the commoners' stands hang over the barrier, and in the box several people are pressed close to the glass - though all careful not to obscure the Grandmaster's view.

"There you have it, folks," Grandmaster himself says into the microphone. He has to raise his voice this time, because for once the crowd won't quiet for him, continuing to scream for Loki below covered in slick and come. "He can literally get fucked by anything in the known universe, the number one champion of sex, your Slutty God!" The crowd tries their damndest to outdo themselves. If he didn't love it so much, Loki might have to cover his ears. Instead Loki just preens, brushing his sweaty hair out of his face and dragging a hand down his still-heaving chest and down between his legs to play in the mess. His hips twitch.

"Pretty," Hulk mumbles from below, looking at Loki just as avidly as everyone else. Somehow that manages to make Loki… blush.

"You're not so bad yourself," he mutters, only a little grudgingly. Loki's eyes retrace Hulk's strong jaw, his lightly furred chest, the hips Loki's legs are still spread uncomfortably wide over.

Grandmaster ends up directing them to clean each other up. Loki gets splayed out on his back in the dirt and comes twice more on Hulk's tongue, and then obviously gets made a mess of again owing to the fact that he can't fit Hulk's cock into his mouth and when he licks and sucks and strokes with both hands until Hulk comes again too Loki gets almost completely covered in it.

Grandmaster declares that "Perfect" and has them take bows, Loki dripping and hard again.

Later, after Grandmaster has added his own come to Hulk's and then treated Loki to a sensuous bathtime massage, when they have dried off and climbed into bed and Grandmaster is lazily, absent-mindedly fingering Loki while he reads an old book from an extinct world, Loki asks him, "What did I win?"

Grandmaster laughs and sets aside his book, his fingers growing more purposeful.

"Anything you can take, little god," he says, both his voice and his eyes filled with mirth and affection. "And clearly you can take anything you want."

And Loki  _ is  _ a god, and a slut, so he knows it's true.

**Author's Note:**

> Meanwhile, Thor, in Hulk's rooms, not quite but almost hearing what's happening: I have to get off this planet.


End file.
